


Angels Unaware

by etui



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:50:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etui/pseuds/etui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's A Wonderful Life, Ray Kowalski.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels Unaware

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to stormheller and tovalentin for the beta.

"God, if you exist, please look out for my partner, Ray. He's had a lot of troubles lately: Stella, Beth Botrelle, and now this episode with Warfield, for which I know he feels responsible even though he is entirely blameless in the matter. He did attempt to dissuade me from my course of action; I was just too stubborn and arrogant to listen. However, I digress. He is quite downcast tonight, and I would very much appreciate it if you would keep him safe. Thank you kindly."

* * *

"Hello, Joseph. Is there a problem?"

"We've had a request from Benton Fraser to look out for Ray Kowalski tonight."

"Really? _He_ doesn't ask for help very often. Whose turn is it?"

"Nathaniel's, sir."

"Oh, dear. Well, I suppose we must let him try. Call for him."

"You sent for me, sir?"

"Yes, Nathaniel. There's a man in trouble tonight that we need you to help. His name is Ray Kowalski. He's a police officer in Chicago. He's undercover to help protect the life of a fellow officer, but this has left him almost entirely isolated: except for his ex-wife, he hasn't been able to maintain any relationships from his real life, and except for his partner, he hasn't formed any new ones. This Christmas has been particularly difficult for him. He feels awful because his partner got badly beaten on a case he was unable to convince him not to pursue, and his ex-wife didn't help matters any with her scornful rejection when he suggested a social engagement. He's lonely and guilt-ridden and thinking of throwing his life away. His partner is very worried and has asked for our help."

"You may rely on me, sir. May I ask—if I am successful, will I finally win my wings? I've waited so long, sir."

"Yes, Nathaniel, if you do a good job with Ray Kowalski, you will get your wings."

"Oh, thank you, sir! I must be off, then. No time to lose."

* * *

Ray hovered around the edges of the 2-7 Christmas party, trying to make it look like he was enjoying himself, but he could feel Fraser watching and knew that he, at least, wasn't fooled. Sometime during the melee caused by Turnbull and his ray gun Ray had absconded with Fraser's hat, and Fraser, with a small frown, had let him have it. Wearing the sacred Stetson usually made Ray feel better, like he was one of the good guys, but tonight it was just not working.

To his left, Turnbull was chasing Dewey around the squad room with his ray gun still blazing. Huey and Mort were back in the corner trying to keep out of their way and pretending not to know them.

To his right, Fraser was talking quietly with Thatcher and Welsh. It had just about broken his heart to hear Fraser talking about forgiveness in his toast. God, he needed some of that. He sucked. It was all his fault. Fraser wouldn't be all cuts and bruises and standing like it hurt to move if Ray had been a better partner and friend. He should've known Fraser would get himself into trouble and need backup. He should've been there with him. He wished there was some way he could have a do-over, but there wasn't. There wasn't anything he could do to make it right.

Beyond them, Frannie was lingering under the mistletoe, probably planning to waylay Fraser as he went by for more eggnog. Well, there was something he could do about _that_. Ray strolled over to her.

"Hey, Frannie. What did you do with that statue you got? I wanna see it. That was something else, wasn't it?" Ray steered Frannie towards her desk, where he could see the David prominently displayed by her computer.

"Yeah. That Frase, he's a real Medieval male."

"Huh?"

"You know. A multi-talented guy."

"Frannie, I think you mean a Renaissance man."

Frannie shrugged. "Medieval, Renaissance, it's all ancient history."

Ray couldn't work up the energy to explain it to her, so he just muttered, "Whatever," and brushed between Frannie and the tree while reaching out to pick up the statue, causing one of the bells on the tree to give off a little tinkle.

"An angel got his wings!"

Okay, that was nuts, even by Frannie standards. Ray looked at her blankly, trying to work out what she was talking about.

"You know, Ray. 'Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.' Didn't you ever see _It's a Wonderful Life_?”

"There's no such thing as angels," Ray scoffed.

"Of course there are! Everybody has a guardian angel looking out for them."

"No way. If anybody deserves a guardian angel, it's Fraser, but if he had one he wouldn't be looking like that, would he?" Ray jerked his head in Fraser's direction

Even Frannie couldn't miss Ray's bitterness. "Ray, it wasn't your fault. And anyway, he's okay. Maybe his guardian angel made sure he's okay."

"If you believe that, I've got a bridge to sell you. We're screwing up all on our own here and doing a swell job. I've got to be good at something, don't I? I'm a great screw-up. Just ask Stell. Or Fraser." Ray couldn't bear it anymore. "I'm taking off. Tell Ma merry Christmas for me, Frannie." Ray leaned over to give Frannie a kiss on the cheek before heading over to his desk to grab his coat.

Curled up under Ray's desk with Ante, Dief gave a little whine when he saw Ray putting his coat on. Ray knelt down to give Dief a pat and receive a lick on the cheek in return. "Hey, Dief. Merry Christmas, buddy. You look after Fraser. You do it better than me." Dief woofed more emphatically, but Ray didn't speak wolf like Fraser did, so he just got up and left.

* * *

Ray ran down the stairs and out the front door of the station. He didn't even glance at the GTO in the parking lot, just kept walking, trying to put some distance between himself and his latest failure. The wind blew fingers of ice down his back and he hunched his shoulders, trying to get his collar up around his ears to shelter them. The Stetson was really impractical from a keeping-Ray's-ears-from-turning-into-ice-cubes point of view, although it wasn't bad at keeping the blowing snow out of his eyes.

Oh, shit. He'd left wearing Fraser's hat. Well, he wasn't going back. Fraser'd just have to deal.

Ray couldn't remember ever having had a more miserable Christmas. His folks had gone back to Arizona to see the grandkids, Stella had blown him off in front of the whole squad room, and Fraser –- well he couldn't imagine Fraser ever wanting to spend _any_ time with him after this, let alone Christmas. He was on his own. Again. God, he hated being alone. It sucked big giant rocks. Christmas was for families. And really, Fraser was the closest thing to family that Ray had, and he'd ruined it.

Ray tried to derail that train of thought before it got going. He'd been down that track so often he had his own station. Not only was he a total screw-up who allowed his partner to get beat within an inch of his life because he didn't back him up, he was also a total chicken-shit, who didn't have the balls to tell said partner how he really felt about him. Proud of him didn't begin to cover it. Crazy in love with him was much more like it, but he couldn't say that. Couldn't bear it if Fraser didn't feel the same way; couldn't risk Fraser-the-innocent turning tail and running like a caribou all the way back to Canada. He didn't know who he'd be if he wasn't Fraser's partner and friend. So instead of betting it all on the big one, he made half-hearted efforts to date Stella and got humiliated for it.

Ray walked on, his thoughts going round in circles, until he found himself at the edge of the lake they call Michigan. (Where did Fraser get that stupid name anyway?) There he stood and stared out over the water, with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders up around his ears, brooding on all his shortcomings. Stella was well rid of him; she obviously agreed with that assessment. And Fraser –- well, Fraser would be well rid of him too. He should have another partner. Someone who'd watch his back and not let him get the crap beat out of him.

"They'd both be better off without me," Ray muttered.

"Don't say that."

Ray jerked around, startled at the voice behind him. There hadn't been anybody else in the park on the way in. Even lost in his thoughts, he never lost sight of his surroundings. A young man stood there, however. His clothes didn't look quite right, but it wasn't anything Ray could put his finger on, and he didn't look threatening, so Ray just shrugged and turned away again.

"Why not? It's true. In fact, I wish I'd never even been born. Then she'd have found a better husband, and him a better partner, to start with."

The young man appeared thoughtful. Then he directed a question into thin air. "What do you think, Joseph? It's an old strategy, but it might be effective."

Okay, Ray was definitely starting to get uncomfortable. He moved to the side to try and get a clear path around the young man back to a more populated area. It was Christmas. He didn't want to have to arrest the guy for harassing a cop.

"Okay, done," said the young man, and disappeared.

* * *

Ray looked around frantically, trying to figure out where the man had gone. There weren't a lot of choices, and all of them came up blank. He wiped the snow out of his eyes and looked around again, then stopped dead, realizing that snow in his eyes meant that he wasn't wearing Fraser's hat anymore. His hand flew to his head and came away empty. Ray promptly forgot about the man and started looking for the hat. Fraser would kill him if he'd lost the hat. Could this day get any worse?

A thorough search of the area didn't turn up the Stetson, so Ray decided to retrace his steps. Maybe he'd find it on the way back to the station. He carefully watched the sidewalk and scanned from side to side as he walked, but didn't see it anywhere. He was in b-i-i-i-i-g trouble.

As Ray got to the station, Huey was coming out the door with someone he didn't recognize. "Hey, Huey, is Fraser still in there?"

"Who's Fraser? Do I know you?" Huey asked.

"Don't do that, do not do that. I am so not in the mood for games, Jack. This isn't The One Liner. I am not Dewey. Seriously, is Fraser still here?"

"How do you know my name? Okay, you're not Dewey. Who _is_ Dewey? Who are _you_? Maybe you'd better show me some ID."

Ray was getting seriously annoyed. "Like Dewey's not your partner, Jack. And will this do?" As he spoke, he threw open his jacket to display the badge attached to his quilted vest.

"This is my partner, Louis Gardino. What am I looking at?"

"Whaddya mean, what? The badge, doofus." And Ray looked down to where the badge should be and saw it wasn't there. He slapped a hand to his chest and patted all up and down that side, hoping the badge was caught in his clothes. His heart sank when he realized that the holster that should have been underneath it wasn’t there either.

"Oh my God! I must have been mugged. They got my badge and gun."

"So you're a cop?"

"Of course I'm a cop, Huey! I'm Ray Vecchio. I work here."

Huey looked startled at the name. "I don't know who you are, guy, but you _aren't_ Ray Vecchio. Ray Vecchio went to jail over a year ago for stealing drugs from the evidence lockup." He reached out a hand and took Ray's arm. "I think you'd better come with me."

Ray jerked his arm out of Huey's grip and backed away slowly. Something weird was going on, and no way was he going into that station. "Har de ha ha. Good one, Jack. You got me. Merry Christmas." And Ray turned and hurried away from the door and over to the corner of the lot where he had parked the GTO. He'd go home, have a drink (or two or three), get some rest. Everything would look better in the morning.

But when he got to the place where he'd parked the car, he found a red Volvo in the spot the GTO usually occupied. Ray turned around to scan the lot. Maybe he'd parked somewhere different today and just forgotten. No, no GTO. Could it have been stolen too? Nothing made any sense. No gun, no badge, no hat, no car. He was seriously weirded out now. Had he been in an accident and lost his memory? What was happening?

"No accident, Ray. You got your wish."

Ray spun back around to face the Volvo and found the young man from the park leaning against the hood. Grabbing a fistful of the man's coat, he got right up in his face. "Who _are_ you? What's happening to me? Where's my car?"

The man shrugged, and Ray's hand fell away from him. "My name is Nathaniel. I'm your guardian angel. You have no car. No gun, no badge. You've been given a great boon. You've never been born."

"What is this? Is this some practical joke? Is everybody in on it?"

"It's not a joke, Ray. You've never been born. You are being allowed to see what the world would be like if you had never lived."

"Okay. This is nuts. _You_ are not an angel. If you're an angel, where are your wings, huh?"

"I haven't earned my wings yet. I'm hoping you will help me get them." Nathaniel gave Ray a small nod.

Ray couldn't begin to get his head around that, so he kept talking like Nathaniel hadn't spoken. "And I'm alive. Huey could see me, touch me. I can touch you." Ray put his hands on the car on either side of the "angel" and leaned in menacingly. "I don't know who you are, but you can tell everybody from me that I don't appreciate the joke." He backed off abruptly. "I'm going home. If I don't have a car, I'll walk. Fraser does it all the time. How hard can it be?"

And Ray turned his back on Nathaniel and walked away.

* * *

Ninety-seven blocks later, Ray had an answer to that question. He was cold, hungry, and very, very tired. He couldn't wait to get inside and have a drink—although coffee was sounding even better than whiskey at the moment. Approaching his front door, he dug into his pocket for his keys…and was almost unsurprised to find them missing. Whoever had gotten his gun and his badge had obviously gotten his keys as well. That would also explain the car being gone.

Ray leaned on the bell to the super's apartment and waited for Mrs. Allenby to come and let him in.

"May I help you?"

"Hi, Mrs. A. I've lost my keys. Can you let me into my apartment?"

"I'm sorry. Do I know you? Which apartment is it?"

"C'mon, Mrs. A. Have a heart. It's freezing out here. Lemme in. It's 309."

"309 is rented by a blind woman. That's obviously not you. I don't know what you're trying to pull, young man, but if you don't leave immediately I'm going to call the police." Mrs. Allenby slammed the door closed, almost in his face.

Ray would have punched the wall in frustration if his hands hadn't already been numb from the cold. Instead, he tucked them under his arms and turned around, trying to figure out what he should do next. He could go back to the station. Maybe not everyone was in on it, and he could get some help. Or he could try his folks—no, they'd gone to Arizona. Okay, scratch the folks. There was Stella, but she'd been pretty emphatic about not getting together tonight, so that might leave him open to a harassment charge. That left Fraser. Surely he wouldn't be in on this. It didn't strike him as the kind of joke Fraser would pull. And he wouldn't be so mad about the hat that he'd refuse to help Ray.

Having a plan made him feel a lot better, and Ray started on the long walk to the Consulate with a lighter heart. Fraser would help. Fraser always helped, even when he didn't actually have a clue what to do.

He hadn't even gone a block when he saw a blond woman coming toward him with a seeing-eye dog. Maybe this was the woman Mrs. A. said had his apartment. Ray looked a little more closely, wondering if he'd seen her around, and then stopped dead in shock.

"Oh my God! Stella!"

The woman stopped and turned towards his voice. "Yes? Who is it?"

"Stella, it's me, Ray." When she made no response he added urgently, "Ray Kowalski."

"I don't think—"

"We went to school together," Ray said awkwardly. Unbelievable as it had sounded, maybe what Nathaniel had told him was the truth. Stella was fine a few hours ago at the station. No way could she have been blinded and be walking around in that short a time. Ray searched his memory for something that would place him for her, reassure her. "Um, Mr. Johnson's English class? We spent half the year reading Kerouac and Ginsberg instead of Hawthorne and Poe."

Stella laughed. "I loved _On the Road_. That was one of my favourite books in school."

"I remember. I still haven't finished it," Ray confided. "How…?" Ray waved a hand weakly towards the dog, but then realized she couldn't see it. "I mean, what happened?"

"Do you mean my sight? I'm a lawyer. About a year ago, the abusive husband of a client I was representing in a bitter divorce case bombed a restaurant I was in. I was blinded in the blast."

"Oh, Stella. I'm so sorry." Ray reached out and took her free hand in both of his. "Did they get the guy who did it?"

Stella pulled her hand away from his and stepped back warily, putting the dog between herself and Ray. "Yes. But not before he also tracked down and killed his wife."

"I'm glad. Well, I'm not glad about what happened to you, but I'm glad they got the guy."

"Look, I have to be going. It was nice talking to you—Ray, was it? You know, I don't remember a Ray in any of my classes."

"Well, you know," Ray stammered, "I wasn't very memorable, I guess." And as she started to walk away, he said, "Merry Christmas, Stella."

* * *

Ray stood and watched until Stella turned into her apartment. His head was spinning from the implications of what seemed to be happening. What did it all mean? Was it possible that something good had actually come from his practically stalking Stella? Deep in thought, he turned and started walking again.

A few blocks on, a piece of newspaper blew by and plastered itself against his legs. Without thinking, he stooped down to pick it up.

"Noooooo!" he shouted, as he read the headline "COP KILLER EXECUTED" prominently displayed over a photo of Beth Botrelle. "I wasn't there to screw up the investigation, so she should never even have been arrested!"

"No, you weren't there, Ray," Nathaniel said from his position in a nearby doorway. "But the officer responding to the call didn't even touch that bloody suicide note, and Bedford and Franklin still conspired to have her arrested and convicted of the killing to advance their own careers." He shook his head sadly. "And you weren't there to look into it again eight years later and clear her before she was executed."

Ray's mind seemed to shift into overdrive. Fraser, what about Fraser? He risked his life in wildly bizarre ways every week, it seemed. What had happened to him? Ray turned to Nathaniel to demand some answers, but Nathaniel had disappeared again. Ray took off running towards the Consulate.

He didn't stop until he got there, a stitch in his side and breathing heavily. The building was dark. No Turnbull on guard duty, and no lights on in Fraser's office. Ray bent over, hands on his knees, and took great heaving breaths until his heart rate slowed a bit, then he bounded up the stairs and pounded on the door. He waited impatiently for long minutes and was about to leave again, thinking the place was empty, when an unfamiliar Mountie finally opened the door, spilling light across the doorstep.

"The Consulate is closed for the holidays," he said. "Are you a Canadian citizen? Is there an emergency?"

"Fraser," Ray gasped out. "Is Constable Fraser here? Benton Fraser?"

The Mountie looked at him strangely. "Are you a friend of his?"

"Yes," Ray said. "You bet."

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, then, but Constable Fraser was killed in the line of duty over a year ago. He was shot by an arsonist with the rather unlikely name of Greta Gar—Sir, are you all right?"

Ray's knees were threatening to buckle, but he managed to put some starch back into them. "I'm OK. It's just a shock, you know." Ray wrapped his arms around himself and held on. "Thank you for telling me," he mumbled and turned to go. He could feel the Mountie watching him until he got to the Consulate gates, and then the door was closed again, shutting out the light.

As soon as he was out of sight around the corner, Ray leaned into the wall with his hands pressed flat and thumped his forehead between them. He felt a sob building in his chest. He turned then and let his knees give out, sliding down the wall until he was sitting in the snow with his arms wrapped around his legs and his forehead resting on his knee. Fraser was dead. Fraser was dead—not because of something Ray had done and screwed up, but because of something he _didn't_ do, like what almost happened with Warfield. Fraser was dead, and Ray had never told him that he loved him. He'd never have the chance now to find out if Fraser could ever love him back.

Well, screw that. Ray lifted his head and sat up straighter; he was never one to give up on something he wanted. He got Stella, his Gold Coast girl, even if he couldn't keep her in the end. And he was a cop, a good one, in spite of his father's bitter objections. He wasn't giving up on Fraser without even trying!

Ray scrambled to his feet. "Nathaniel! You have to send me back." He brushed the snow off quickly, then put his hands on his hips and started shouting. "I want my life back. Gimme back my life!" Ray turned in a circle, looking for the angel to pop up behind him like he had before, but he didn't appear. "I want to live," he said, almost to himself.

As he made one last turn, his back to the streetlights, Ray saw his shadow stretch out in front of him along the sidewalk, long and skinny, made longer and skinnier by the crown of his hat—Ray let out a whoop! for joy, and his hands flew to his head to confirm that Fraser's hat was back. Holding on tight to the hat with his left hand, he slapped his right hand over his heart, feeling both the rough edges of his badge and the holster underneath it, and then down over his jeans' pocket, searching for his keys. He was alive!

Ray raced for the curb and flagged down a passing taxi to take him back to the 2-7. He had to find Fraser.

* * *

Ray had the money ready when the cab pulled up in front of the station, and he took the stairs to the squad room two at a time. The scene he burst in on wasn't all that different from the one he'd left. He couldn't have been gone very long. Good.

Ray walked right over to Fraser and, aiming a general, "Excuse us," at the group he was talking to, took his arm and started dragging him away from the party.

Fraser didn't resist, but, being Fraser, just had to ask questions. "Ray, what's the matter? Where are we going? Are you all right?"

"I need to talk to you," Ray said and kept on going until the men's room door shut behind them. Ray pushed Fraser back until he was standing against the door, then released his arm so he could go and open each of the stall doors to be sure they were alone. Then he turned to face Fraser.

"Okay, here's the deal," Ray said. He took a deep breath and let it out. He'd practiced this in his head on the way back in the cab, but it was scary as hell to actually say it. "I love you."

"And I, you, Ray," Fraser replied calmly.

"No, no, you don't get it. I really love you, not, you know, brotherly love, more like lover-ly love."

Fraser smiled then, a real smile that made his eyes light up. "And I, you, Ray," he repeated.

"You do?" Ray blurted out.

"Yes. I do," Fraser replied, and it sounded like a vow to Ray, who crossed the room in three strides and threw his arms around Fraser, clinging to him like Fraser was saving him from drowning again. Fraser's arms came up to hold him, and Ray buried his nose in Fraser's collar, breathing in the smell of neat's-foot oil, damp wool, and _Fraser_. The hat, which Ray had totally forgotten about, was knocked back and almost off by the impact with Fraser's ear, but Fraser caught it deftly and placed it on the edge of the sink beside him, keeping a firm grip on Ray as he did so.

"I don't know how you can love a screw-up like me," Ray mumbled without lifting his head from Fraser's shoulder. "I let you get almost beat to death. You could've died."

"Ray, it wasn't your fault." Fraser brought his left hand up to thread his fingers through Ray's hair, while his right was making comforting sweeps up and down Ray's back. "You did what you thought was right. You explained your reasons, and they were good ones. I was just too obstinate and single-minded to listen."

"You got that right," Ray said under his breath.

"And you've saved my life more times than I can count," Fraser added, "starting with the day we met. You're like my guardian angel. How could I not love you? You're the best friend I ever had."

Ray pushed back a little then, so he could look Fraser in the eye.

"Same here, buddy." He brought his hand up to cup Fraser's cheek and brushed his thumb over the worst of the cuts near Fraser's mouth. Then he leaned in a little, and Fraser leaned in a little, and they were kissing. And that was good, that was better than good, that was greatness to the tenth power.

Ooh, boy. The men's room at the station was not the place to be doing this. Ray broke off the kiss and leaned his forehead against Fraser's.

"Let's go home."

"Yes, Ray. Home." Fraser picked up his hat and, smiling broadly again, set it back on Ray's head, then opened the door and gestured for Ray to precede him.

They returned to the squad room, and while Fraser went to collect Dief and his coat and sword from Ray's desk, Ray waited by the Christmas tree. He looked around; nobody was watching him, so he very deliberately reached out and rang one of the bells. "Thanks, Nathaniel. Merry Christmas."

"What's that, Ray?" Fraser asked from behind him.

"Pitter patter, Fraser. Let's get at 'er. We got some serious celebrating to do."

"Yes, we do." They fell into step, walking down the hall, shoulder to shoulder as usual.

"Hey, Frase, have you ever seen _It's A Wonderful Life_?"

"Certainly, Ray. It's a classic. Why do you ask?"

As they started down the stairs, Ray slung his arm around Fraser's shoulder and said, "Have I got a story for you…"

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal, 2005-11-26.


End file.
